


Bad Company

by Art3misiA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BAMF Ginny, Evil Author Day, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Grey!Fenrir, Post-War, Wizarding wars (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: Fenrir has resigned himself to a life in Azkaban. He deserves it.But then the youngest Weasley waltzes into his life, telling him she's going to be his mentor and that she's part of a programme to try and rehabilitate former Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters.Despite himself, he is drawn to her, and she to him. Even his wolf likes her, and he can't remember the last time his lunar brother liked anyone. But surely it's all for nothing - he's certain he'll never be able to live a normal life, and anyway, he's bad company.
Relationships: Fenrir Greyback/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 18
Kudos: 8
Collections: Evil Author Musings





	1. Destiny is a rising (moon)

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo!
> 
> So I started this last year, got in a few chapters, and well... life got in the way. But I want to come back to it eventually! It was inspired by the song of the same name by Five Finger Death Punch.
> 
> Tags will be updated as I eventually get around to adding to it, potentially Archive Warnings will be upgraded also.
> 
> This piece is currently unbetaed, so please forgive any errors I've missed!

**_2004_ **

“Your sponsor is here, filthy dog.”

Fenrir looked up disinterestedly as the guard rattled the bars of his cell.

“Sponsor? What are you on about, boy?” he asked.

“Your Ministry-issued sponsor. New programme, courtesy of Minister Granger.”

_ Huh. _ This was the first he’d heard of any sponsor. He figured those fools at the Ministry would have forgotten all about him the moment he was imprisoned, and couldn’t think why they’d send anyone to speak to the likes of him.

The guard turned to look at someone behind him. “Stay well back from the bars, miss. Remember that he’s a dangerous animal, barely even human.”

“He  _ is  _ human. Even if he did inhuman things.”

The guard snorted in disgust. “Should have just put him down like the rabid mutt he is, that's what I think.”

“Luckily for the prisoners, you aren’t paid to express your opinion on restorative justice,” the young woman said coolly.

“Ha! She put you in your place, boy,” Fenrir laughed. “Now move your fat arse so I can see the girly you’re shielding.”

With a grumble, the guard stepped aside to reveal his visitor. She had long red hair, sharp blue eyes, and wore a slightly apprehensive expression as she regarded him. Fenrir grinned at the sight. Lifting his head, he sniffed at the air, catching her scent. Sandalwood, musk, and a slight tang of feminine sweat. She both looked, and smelled, familiar. He just couldn’t quite place her; not yet. But it would come.

“Closer, girly. Let me get a good look at you.”

She didn’t respond, but didn’t move forward, either. Instead, she looked pointedly at the guard, who sighed and conjured a chair. With a quiet ‘thank you’, she sat, primly crossing her ankles and tossing her long, shiny hair over her shoulder. The guard moved back several paces, positioning himself so he was behind and slightly to the right of the girl, and folded his arms, glaring balefully at Fenrir.

“I take it no one has informed you of the sponsorship program, Mr Greyback?” the witch asked him.

Fenrir chuckled at being called  _ Mr Greyback _ . It wasn’t even his real name, for Merlin’s sake! Then again, it might as well be. He couldn’t remember his real name, the one he had before he was bitten and his life changed forever. “Can’t say that they have, girly. Sounds like a load of bollocks though, whatever it is.”

She reached for the handbag hanging from her shoulder, lifting it into her lap and undoing the clasp. Pulling it open, she reached inside and withdrew a folded newspaper then started to stand.

“Hold it, miss. It’s best if I do that,” the guard cautioned, stepping forward to take the paper from her before she could move towards him. Fenrir snorted and rolled his eyes.

The witch sighed in exasperation as she eased back into her seat. “Go on, then.”

The guard stepped forward, withdrawing his wand as he went. With the weapon trained on Fenrir, he rested the paper on the crossbar. Fenrir didn’t move from his spot on the bed, instead regarding the man on the other side of his cell with detached amusement.

“Hurry up, dog,” he growled.

Fenrir waited a moment longer before slowly rising from his bed. Keeping his eyes on the witch all the while, he stretched languidly, letting his spine crack. He didn’t miss the way her eyes widened imperceptibly, her head tilting back to watch him. Next he moved his head from side to side and rolled his shoulders. Finally, when he sensed the guard was within moments of losing his temper, he strolled forward until he was close enough to snatch the paper from the other man’s hand.

Returning to his bed, he sat down, opened it up and shook it out. It was an edition of the  _ Daily Prophet  _ dated two weeks ago.

**_Minister for Magic Announces New Mentor Programme for War Criminals_ ** **_  
  
_ **

_ Minister Granger, in an unprecedented move, has declared that all those tried and convicted of war crimes following the Second Wizarding War are to be assigned mentors, with the programme to begin within the next two weeks - as soon as volunteers can be screened and assigned to those who are incarcerated. _ __   
  


_ The tenacious Muggleborn, who is also the youngest Minister to serve in England in more than one hundred and fifty years, developed the programme based on methods used in Muggle prisons. At a scheduled press conference, she said, “For all but the most heinous crimes, people incarcerated in the Muggle world are encouraged to rehabilitate, to take the opportunity to improve themselves and earn the right to one day rejoin society. I believe it is possible to re-educate those convicted of war crimes, to show them that there is a path other than fanaticism and an obsession with blood purity. Bigotry and prejudice are learned; with time and hard work, they can be unlearned.” _

_ Support for the programme has been mixed, with some members of the Wizengamot and the public being of the view that the prisoners should be forgotten about and left to rot. However, key figures including Kingsley Shacklebolt (Former Minister for Magic, who retired last year), Minerva McGonagall (Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry), and the Minister’s good friends Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood, have all come out publicly in support. _

_ The programme passed by the narrowest of margins in an Extraordinary meeting of the Wizengamot, following a heated debate which lasted for several days. _

_ Currently, there are thirty-three former Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters incarcerated in Azkaban, including Thorfinn Rowle, Walden McNair, Lucius Malfoy, Corban Yaxley, Augustus Rookwood, Rudolphus Lestrange, and Fenrir Greyback - although it should be noted that the vicious werewolf was never granted the Dark Mark, due to his disease of lycanthropy… _

Fenrir let loose an animalistic growl and crumpled the paper into a ball before dropping it to the floor, leaning over the bed to spit on it for good measure.  _ Fucking bastards. ‘Disease of lycanthropy’, indeed! _

He’d never asked to be bitten as a child. Never asked to be treated like he was less than human, an abomination. If not for that incident, perhaps he’d have had a chance at a normal life. Perhaps he would have travelled a different path, one not marred by dark magic and violent crime. But there was no use crying over spilt butterbeer. What was done, was done.

Looking up at the witch before him, he scowled. “So you’re here to  _ reform  _ me, are you, girly? To make me  _ fit to reenter society?”  _

She nodded. “That’s correct, Mr Greyback. We’ll work together—”

“And what about my condition? My  _ disease?”  _ he spat. “Do you really think I’ll ever be released? Accepted as a reformed and upstanding citizen? Do you even know of the things I’ve done?” 

“I know everything you’ve done,” she said quietly. “You bit Remus Lupin. Mauled my housemate and nearly killed her. Scarred my brother.”

Fenrir chuckled; he was finally able to place her. “I remember you. The youngest Weasley. How  _ is  _ your brother these days?”

“Wolfish,” she said. “He sends his regards.”

“I’m sure he does,” he replied. “Are you really here to reform me, or are you just here to put me down as an act of revenge? I’m sure your man over there wouldn’t stop you.” He nodded towards the guard, who continued to glare in Fenrir’s direction but otherwise remained silent and unmoving.

“No, I’m not going to attack you. And I’m not going to guarantee that you can be reformed. But I’m going to try.”

Fenrir huffed in amusement. “Are you really? I’m a werewolf, after all. A half-breed. Ordinary wizards hate my kind.”

The Weasley girl eyed him steadily. “Remus was a werewolf, and I didn’t hate him. In fact, I liked him very much, as did my friends and many of my fellow students, the professors, and the Order. He was a good man. His lycanthropy didn’t change that fact.”

“And how was Lupin managing before he resurfaced at Hogwarts?” he countered. “Was he happy? Healthy? Were his pockets full of Galleons?”

She fell quiet and looked at her hands, twisting her fingers in her lap.

“Well?” Fenrir pressed. “Answer me, girly.”

“It’s Ginny,” she said, looking up at him. Her eyes were sad. “And no, he wasn’t happy. When we first met him, he was malnourished, and exhausted. His robes were in disrepair and he owned very little. He barely had two Knuts to rub together.”

“And why do you think that is?”

The Weasley -  _ Ginny -  _ glared petulantly at him. “You know, I’m supposed to be asking  _ you  _ the questions not the other way around.”

“And yet, here we are,” he replied coolly. “If you want me to tolerate your presence, little Weasley, you’ll answer.”

She seemed to consider his words, then nodded, albeit reluctantly. Fenrir found himself mildly impressed, in spite of himself. She was being far more patient and accommodating than he expected. He waited for her to give him a reply to his previous question.

Finally, she sighed and lifted her hands in a half-shrug. “Because of his Lycanthropy. He found it almost impossible to hold down a job or even find somewhere to live, because of society’s prejudice against werewolves.”

“And do you think wizardkind has changed their attitudes towards wolves since the end of the war? Their attitudes towards  _ me?”  _

“No,” she admitted, not meeting his eyes. 

“So why are you here?”

“Because I want to be.”

Fenrir snorted in disbelief. “And what of your family and friends? What do they think? Didn’t the Potter pup object? You became his wife, as I recall.”

“They can’t tell me what to do,” she answered with a scowl. “I’m not a child any more. I fought in the war, just as they did! And I am  _ not  _ Harry’s wife.”

He grinned. He’d clearly struck a nerve, and quite a big one. It would seem that not only did the youngest Weasley feel undervalued by her friends and family, but her fairytale relationship with the Potter boy had crashed and burned. He could use those resentments to goad her, test her. To see if she was genuine, or just playing some sort of game.

“So your family doesn't approve of you visiting me?” he pressed. “I thought the brother I scarred sent his regards?”

“They weren’t kind ones,” she bit out. “But what he had to say was nothing compared to what his wife had to say about the matter.”

“Oh? And tell me, girly - what  _ did  _ she have to say?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It was all in French. But whatever it was, it clearly wasn’t polite. One of our ancestors’ portraits is hanging in our sitting room, and she obviously speaks the language, because she was so scandalised that she fled with her hands over her ears.”

Fenrir threw back his head and roared with laughter, and noted that despite the topic under discussion, the young witch’s lips twitched, though she tried to keep her expression stern.

Silence fell between them. Although it didn’t bother Fenrir in the slightest - he’d never been much of a talker, anyway - he could tell the witch felt awkward and unsure how to proceed. After several minutes where neither of them said anything, he took pity on her and decided to speak. After all, she was the first proper visitor he’d had since his incarceration.

Clearing his throat, he said, “So tell me about this mentor thing. Not in the Minister’s words - in your own. Why are you acting as a mentor? And why would you agree to being assigned to me?”

The Weasley girl considered his questions, her tilting head slightly to one side as she formulated a response. After a few beats, she opened her mouth, closed it again, shook her head as if to clear errant thoughts, and finally sat up straighter in her chair. She looked unflinchingly at him and gave a small smile.

“Well, truthfully, I was opposed to the idea at first. We’d all suffered so much at the hands of Voldemort and his supporters, and I couldn’t understand why Hermione would think it was a good idea to give any of them the time of day, let alone treat them as if they were capable of redemption of any kind. I was one of the ones who thought you should all be left to rot.” She nodded at the crumpled paper on the floor of his cell.

“It took a lot of work on Hermione’s part to convince me to not only support her, but to become one of her mentors. I was angry for a long time; angry at Voldemort, at his supporters, the Ministry and their bumbling. Even myself. I kept thinking of all the things I could have done differently, all the ways I could have changed an outcome or prevented a death. In the end, it was that anger that worked in her favour. She said being face-to-face with his supporters would help me recoginse that they were just as human as I was. They had done bad things, terrible and monstrous things, but they were still human. She said it would be  _ therapeutic.  _ I said she was full of shit.”

Fenrir nodded slowly in understanding. He appreciated her honesty; it would have been easy for her to feed him a lot of pretty words about how she believed in the programme or had faith that it would succeed, that she saw the good in everyone, or some equally sickening and disingenuous bullshit.

“How did you go from thinking she was full of shit, to agreeing with her?” he asked.

“Strictly speaking, I didn’t completely agree with her, even though I agreed to be one of her mentors. I still don’t completely agree with her. I don’t think all of you can be reformed. But I was just so sick of being angry all the time, at everything and everyone. I lashed out a lot, pushed the people I love away. Drank too much.” She looked down at her hands, as if ashamed, then back up at him. “I hoped that she was right; that if I participated in the programme it would help me deal with and let go of some of my anger.”

“And you agreed to be assigned to me?” Fenrir prompted.

The Weasley snorted indelicately. “Hardly. I volunteered to be your mentor. Hermione wanted each of us to be completely in control of our involvement, and that included being free to choose who we mentored. She didn’t want anyone to feel obligated or pressured to deal with any particular prisoner. She said it could interfere with the process if the mentors didn’t feel like they had a say over who they worked with.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You  _ chose  _ to mentor me?” She nodded in response, leaving him even more surprised. And confused.  _ “...Why?”  _ he asked, once he remembered how to make coherent sounds with his mouth.

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. Her face scrunched up, and she frowned. “Actually, that’s not entirely true. I think—I think I did it to get a rise out of everyone.”

“A—rise?” Fenrir stuttered, feeling even more perplexed than before, if that was possible. Here was this scrap of a girl - one he vaguely remembered as being a fair duellist, good with spells, and with a tenacity and fire to match her long, shining hair - sitting before him, one of the most feared and reviled men of all time, saying she was seeing him to get a  _ rise  _ out of everyone.

“Yes, I think so,” she replied evenly. “They all seem to underestimate me and treat me like an infant—well, except for Hermione—so…” Her shoulder lifted slightly and her lips did that quirk again, the one that told him she was trying not to laugh. He realised then that he  _ liked  _ this Weasley. Huh. Wonders would never cease. Her honest forthrightness was… refreshing. And she seemed not to fear him, despite all he had done. She had  _ spark.  _ He decided he would not object to her coming back to see him again, even if he probably was a lost cause. 

Fenrir realised he had been studying her intently when she shifted in her chair, blushed, and then asked, “What do you think of that?”

He told her exactly what he had been thinking, and she blushed even harder. “You do realise that if I’m to come back, we can’t spend every meeting talking about me and my feelings?” she warned, attempting to look serious. “We’ll need to talk about you.”

“I’m not very interesting, or palatable, for that matter,” Fenrir replied. “But I suppose I can tell you a thing or two, if you ask me nicely. And if you promise to tell me a few more things about your life.” He gave her a wolfish grin.

She gave him an embarrassed smile and laughed nervously. “My life isn’t all that interesting, either,” she said. “Although, admittedly, far more… palatable.” Her quip made him chuckle and shake his head in resignation. Merlin, this girl was amusing. 

She looked at her watch and sighed. “Our session for today is over.”

Fenrir felt a foreign sensation in his chest at her words. A tightness. It was uncomfortable. He didn’t like it, and frowned.

“You look disappointed,” she observed with a quirk of her eyebrow, as she stood and readjusted the strap of her bag.

“Huh. Is that what this feeling is?” he replied, tapping on his barrel chest with a closed fist. “Interesting.”

“Do you not remember what disappointment feels like?’ she asked curiously. “What about other emotions? Sadness? Fear? Love? Happiness?”

He laughed cynically. “Emotions are foreign to me, little Weasley,” he said. “At least, all human emotions. I feel what the wolf feels. Have for as long as I can remember.”

“Perhaps next time, you’ll tell me about the wolf.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps I will.”

His answer triggered another smile, a more hopeful one, this time. She was at the door when she paused and turned back to regard him. “And stop calling me ‘girly’ and ‘little Weasley’. I told you - my name is  _ Ginny _ .” The guard escorted her out, and the steel clanged shut behind them. 

Fenrir lifted his head and sniffed the air once again. Her scent still lingered. He found himself experiencing yet another foreign human emotion. He thought it might be hope.

He hoped she meant what she said. He hoped she would come back.


	2. (Monsters), We've Been Called

Fenrir spent the next few days pacing impatiently around his cell, wondering if the little Weasley would come back as she’d promised. It was only after she left that he had realised she didn’t actually say when she intended to return; and of course, he hadn’t thought to ask, having been so taken aback by the whole affair.

Although guards only ever came near his cell when delivering his meagre, tasteless meals; and they levitated the trays through the small slot to avoid coming anywhere near him, he would growl viciously whenever he caught their scent. 

It had been a long time since he’d been this agitated - the first two years had been the hardest. He had never before been caged, and the wolf railed savagely against the insult, making it dangerous for anyone to come within grabbing distance. Additionally, it had been necessary for the guards to add additional reinforcing charms to the bars and strengthen the wards around his cell, as he had tried on many occasions over the years to batter his way out.

The sound of someone approaching the outer door caught his attention. As one of the most dangerous and violent prisoners, his cell was within a cell - while his cage proper had the usual three stone walls and a set of bars making up the fourth wall, it was accessed via a very thick iron door, which opened on an open area the approximate width of his cell with a two metre space between the door and the bars. This entrance was protected by many more charms, wards and curses. The wall the door was embedded in was equally thick, lined with more iron, and of course layered with so many enchantments that even a whole contingent of powerful wizards using  _ Bombarda Maxima  _ would find it impossible to penetrate. As such, he was completely segregated from the other prisoners, and escape was beyond impossible - even for him.

He was pulled out of his musings by the smell of the crap they called food. He turned his head sharply to regard the young guard who was bearing the tray. He chuckled to himself despite his dark mood. The guard was just a boy, barely out of Hogwarts, and had jumped in alarm when Fenrir moved so suddenly. 

“Don’t you spill my dinner, pup,” he growled.

“N—no sir,” the lad stuttered, trembling. He waved his wand, levitating the tray across the small open space and through the delivery slot. Fenrir caught it on the other side, and the guard turned to go.

“Oi - pup. C’mere,” Fenrir ordered. He decided that he had waited long enough, he would ask this young one about his mentor.

The lad turned back towards him, his face pale and his wand held high, as if he were about to be attacked. The wolf huffed in amusement at the reaction as Fenrir lowered the tray to his bed.

“Better steady that wand arm,” he advised, nodding at the lad’s wildly trembling limb. “Shaking like that, you wouldn’t be able to hit the broad side of an Erumpent at close range.” 

The lad swallowed and watched him for a long moment before slowly lowering his arm. “What do you want, werewolf?” he asked, his voice shaking almost as much as his body had a moment earlier.

“I want to know when my visitor will return,” Fenrir stated. “The Weasley lass. Ginny.” He elaborated, when the lad frowned at him in confusion.

“I—I don’t know anything about any visitor. I’ve only been here a week.”

“And yet, they send you to feed the killer beast? Fenrir asked, scorn in his voice. “”You look like you might shit your trousers at any moment.”

The lad looked down at his feet. “The other guards said all new employees had to do it. To truly understand what we were dealing with.”

He wasn’t the first greenhorn to have been sent to Fenrir’s cell, but it rankled him every time it happened.  _ “Understand what you’re dealing with,”  _ he snarled in disgust. “Pup, if you want to truly see what you’re dealing with when it comes to me, come back on the full moon.”

The lad gasped in fright and went even paler. He shrunk back against the wall, evidently forgetting he had a wand and access to the exit. “Oh, please—they won’t make me do that, will they?”

Three years ago - hell, even one - Fenrir would have relished in this boy’s terror. He would have breathed it in the way a hungry man breathes in the smell of a hot, delicious meal. He would have tortured the boy with a fearsome, wolfish grin, subtle threats and perhaps a partial transformation, just to give him a taste of what he was  _ dealing with.  _ But over the last few months, even before the Weasley girl appeared, he had felt… well, he supposed he felt resigned. For all his infamy, for all the fear and hatred his presence invoked in the guards, for all his rage and fearsomeness and strength, he was stuck in here. They were out there. What was the point of toying with any of the bastards who threw him his meals?

“Don’t be stupid. No one comes anywhere near this wing during the full moon,” he snorted. “Protocol, and all that. Even with all the protections in place, they’re all too fearful to even venture into the corridor beyond that wall.” The lad gulped and nodded, although he didn’t seem convinced.

“Bugger off, then,” Fenrir said, flicking his hand dismissively at him. The lad turned, fumbled at the door, then dived through as though he was being pursued by the hounds of Hades. Fucking wizards and their prejudice. He didn’t know why the Weasley girl thought she could get anywhere with the likes of him - even if she genuinely didn’t see him as a half-breed monster, the rest of the wizarding world certainly fucking did. And, to be honest, they were probably right. Sighing, he picked up his tray. The slop had gone cold and hard. He shook his head and dropped it carelessly by the cell door, untouched, then flopped down on his bed. He might as well sleep; there was nothing else to do.

* * *

A week had passed since she had come, and Fenrir was beginning to believe she had changed her mind and decided not to return after all. Frankly, he didn’t blame her. It was a waste of her time, and her family had probably convinced her to—

He lifted his head from his thin pillow. He could hear footsteps - two sets - moving towards the outer door. One was the heavy, loping tread of a guard, while the other was lighter, softer. He sat up quickly, a funny, twisting feeling in his stomach. It was all very strange, and as he tried to process the sensation, the footsteps stopped on the other side of the door. 

Moments later, it unlocked with a dull thud, and the same guard as last week stepped through, still wearing the same scowl. Fenrir lifted his head and sniffed the air, filtering out the guard’s stench of sweat and cigarettes, and grunted in satisfaction. Sandalwood, musk, feminine sweat.

“Greetings, little Weasley,” he said coolly, his voice belying the strange feelings he was experiencing. “Back again already?”

“I told you not to call me that,” she replied, a lilt to her voice that told him she was amused. Then, she was stepping past the guard and regarding him with her head tilted slightly to one side.

“I remember,” he said. “But it’s what I prefer to call you.”

Ginny shrugged. “I suppose if it makes you more comfortable, I’ll tolerate it...for now.”

Fenrir chucked, then turned to glare at the guard, who was standing impassively in the middle of the open space. “You! Don’t just stand there like a brainless idiot! Conjure the lass a chair to sit on!” he barked.

“Don’t tell me what to do, dog!” the guard snapped, his eyes narrowing in anger.

“Am I to stand, then?” Ginny asked, her tone showing her irritation.

The guard muttered under his breath, reluctantly drew his wand and conjured a chair. Ginny sat with a prim “thank you,” and gazed through the bars at Fenrir. After a few moments, she reached into her handbag and withdrew parchment and a self-inking quill. “Do you mind if I make notes of our conversation?” she asked.

“It looks like you’re going to make notes regardless,” he observed wryly.

“Not at all.” She shook her head. “If you don’t want me to write anything down, I won’t. We can just talk.”

“And suppose I deny you permission to write anything. What’s to stop you going off and making notes after you leave?”

“So suspicious,” Ginny said with a sigh. “But I suppose that’s entirely warranted. In answer to your question, there’s nothing to stop me. You would simply have to trust me to keep my word.”

“The word of wizards isn’t worth much to me,” Fenrir sniped. His wolf’s hackles were up, although whether in response to the funny sensations that were still present, or to his general mistrust of wizards in general, he wasn’t certain.

“What about the word of witches?”

He snorted in amusement. “Depends on the witch; but generally, worth just as much as that of wizards. If not less.”

“Fair enough.” She started to return the items to her bag. “I won’t write a word about our conversations, here or otherwise, if you do not wish—”

“It’s fine, little Weasley” he interrupted her. “I don’t care one way or the other if you write anything down. It’s not likely to make any difference to my situation, now or in the future.”

Ginny nodded and gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Mr Greyback.” Placing her bag on the floor, she arranged the parchment on her lap and scribbled something on it.

“Don’t call me _ Mr  _ Greyback,” Fenrir said. “I don’t like it, and besides, I’m no Mister. Just ‘Greyback’ will do.”

“Greyback it is,” she agreed. 

Another pregnant pause followed. Ginny’s brow was furrowed, as if she was trying to make a decision. Finally, she met his eyes and said, “Can we talk about your childhood? Before you were—before you were bitten?”

The wolf growled in warning. “No,” he said shortly. “That part of me is dead.”

“All right,” she acquiesced. She tapped her quill against her chin for a moment, then continued, “Last time I was here, I asked you if you would tell me about the wolf. Will you do that today?”

“Why do you want to know about him?” Fenrir asked. “It’s the part of me everyone hates. The part that makes them call me a ‘half-breed.’”

Instead of answering his question directly, Ginny said, “Did you know that my brother Bill—the one you scarred—married a woman who is a quarter Veela?”

He grunted. “So?”

“She, too, has been called a half-breed. Not so much in her native home of France, where there is somewhat less prejudice than here in England; but certainly here. I don’t see her as anything like that. She’s my sister-in-law, she’s family. She loves my brother, and their children, fiercely. She’s a wonderful person and I’m glad to know her.”

“What’s your point?” Despite his question, Fenrir suspected he knew what she was going to say next.

“She’s no half-breed. I don’t use the word. In fact, I loathe it. It’s a disgusting term, as disgusting as the word  _ Mudblood.”  _ Her features twisted, as if the very sound left a foul taste in her mouth. “Furthermore, as you’ll recall, Remus was a werewolf. He was also one of the most honourable, kind, selfless and brave men I have ever had the honour of knowing and no more a half breed than Fleur.”

“In case it’s escaped your notice, little Weasley, I am none of the things Lupin was,” he replied dryly.

“I _ know  _ that,” Ginny replied. “My point is that your wolf is a part of you, for good or for ill. There’s a lot of misinformation about werewolves. Although your reputation has, admittedly, only fuelled that misinformation, it isn’t true of all lycanthropes. Remus hated and feared his wolf, fought him every step of the way. You, on the other hand, embraced yours.”

“I did.”

“I want to hear about him. His urges and wants, his feelings—you said you feel what the wolf feels—how he perceives the world.”

“No one’s ever asked me that before,” Fenrir mused. He found himself constantly surprised by this girl. She stared in at him, bold and unafraid—he knew she wasn’t afraid, because the wolf could smell her ease—and he believed her when she said she didn’t consider him as merely a half-breed. 

_ What do you think?  _ He asked his dark companion.

_ We should give her a chance,  _ the wolf replied.  _ It will give us some reprieve from the boredom, at least. She’s not a threat to us; I would know immediately if she was. _

“I have consulted with the wolf and he is in agreement,” Fenrir said aloud. “I will tell you about him, so long as you are not insolent in your questioning.”

“Of course,” Ginny replied, giving him a small smile. “Please correct me immediately if my conduct is intrusive or inappropriate.”

A derisive snort from the far end of the open space between the bars and the external exit caught their attention. Ginny turned her head, her shining red hair flipping over her shoulder as she did so, and glared at the guard. “Is there a problem?” she asked tightly.

“You’re worried about being  _ intrusive or inappropriate  _ towards the likes of him?” The guard said disgustedly. “What’s wrong with you, girl? War heroine and all, and here you are, talking to that animal as if he’s a human being?”

The wolf snarled.  _ Stinking wizard. We should rip his throat out for that insult.  _

_ You know we can’t,  _ Fenrir answered.  _ As much as I would like to, he can taunt us all he likes and there’s nothing we can do about it. _

Ginny stood and turned to face the guard. “Tell me—what did you say your name was?”

“I didn't,” he replied, but didn’t volunteer the information.

“His name is Reynolds,” Fenrir said. If the bastard thought he could withhold anything from Ginny while she was here, he would find he was mistaken. The wolf knew everything about this man; just like he knew everything about the other guards who ventured within smelling distance.

“Shut up, dog, or I’ll shut you up!” Reynolds said threateningly, pulling his wand from its holster.

“Tell me, Mr Reynolds,” Ginny said quietly. “Do you like your job?”

The wolf pricked up his ears in interest. Everything about her right now, from her tone to her stance to her scent, called out,  _ leader. Alpha.  _

“He hates it,” Fenrir offered. “But he can’t get another. Bit too free with his fists in other jobs, that one.”

“Very well then, I’ll rephrase. Mr Reynolds, do you wish to keep your job?” 

Reynolds glared petulantly at her and said nothing. 

“I asked you a question, Reynolds! Answer me!” The warning in her tone made the wolf nod in approval. If the guard knew what was good for him, he would lay at her feet immediately and show her his throat in submission.

Reynolds muttered something. Fenrir, with the wolf’s hearing, heard it clearly. And although he was certain Ginny had heard him also, she wasn’t about to accept his response in that form. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I need this job,” Reynolds muttered, a little louder.

“Well, in that case, you’d best shut your mouth and put your wand away,” Ginny ordered, her eyes never leaving the guard’s face. She hadn’t so much as blinked. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll  _ keep  _ your mouth shut concerning my visits to Greyback, and our conversations. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Reynolds gave her one last scathing look and averted his eyes. “Yes, miss,” he said, tucking his wand back into its holster.

Ginny nodded in satisfaction, and finally turned back to Fenrir to catch him grinning at her. She simply quirked an eyebrow at him and sat back down.

“Now, where were we?” she asked, as if nothing had happened.

“You were asking about the wolf.”

“Of course. What has he been thinking today?”

“A number of things,” Fenrir said, leaning his head back against the wall. “He didn’t like the tickling feeling in my stomach when I heard you approaching. It felt strange.” He noticed a slight change in her posture when he said this, and filed it away to examine later.

“He doesn’t like that one—” he nodded towards Reynolds “—In fact, he would very much like to rip his throat out for his impudence.”

“Lucky for him he’s out of your reach, then,” Ginny noted. She wrote something down, then looked back at Fenrir. “And what does the wolf think of—me?”

The wolf wuffed in amusement.  _ She doesn’t hesitate, does she? Just plows ahead, knows what she wants and isn't afraid to assert herself. She is Lupa. _

Fenrir paused for a moment before answering. “He likes you,” he said. “You are truthful and unafraid of us. He approves of the way you asserted your dominance over Reynolds and finds your scent pleasing. He calls you  _ Lupa.” _

_ “Lupa?”  _ She grinned and ducked her head, her pale skin flushing pink. “The she-wolf.”

“Yes. You display the qualities of an Alpha female. The wolf respects that.”

“Thank you. I’m flattered.”

“You should be. It is a sentiment he bestows upon very few others.”

“And what is your own opinion of me, Greyback? Are you in complete agreement with the wolf?”

“I’m almost always in complete agreement with my brother,” he answered.

“So you wouldn’t object if I came back next week?”

_ Too far away,  _ the wolf objected.

“Sooner,” Fenrir said. “A week is too long.”

Ginny reached for her bag and withdrew a small notebook. She flipped it open and rapidly turned the pages. “Four days from now?” she asked, looking up at him.

He nodded. “That would be acceptable.”

“All right, four days from now it is,” she replied, making a note on the page. Standing, she gathered her bag and tucked away her things. The wolf sighed in disappointment as he watched her prepare to depart.

Reynolds had opened the door and was waiting for her when Fenrir called her back.

“Stay longer next time,” he said.

Ginny nodded and smiled at him again, then turned on her heel and was gone.


	3. That's Why They Call Me (Greyback)

The four days that followed seemed to drag. That was saying something, considering he had been in Azkaban, where each day bled with infinite sluggishness into the next, for six years. He completely understood how so many of the witches and wizards here took their own lives or simply went mad. If not for his wolf, Fenrir was sure he would have been well on his way to being just as insane as the rest of the long-term prisoners by now.

Finally, the fourth day arrived. He had been pacing his cell since before sunrise, even though visiting hours did not begin until eleven. He had eaten his breakfast - the watery, lumpy porridge they were fed every morning - without even being consciously aware of it. The portions the prisoners were given were barely sufficient for an average person, and for him even less so. The wolf's presence meant he needed to eat large meals often, with plenty of meat, but of course, in here he had to take what he could get. The lack of sustenance, he supposed, was part of the reason he had begun to lose the fight that had always been in him. His body just didn’t have the energy any more.

It was not long after midday when he heard sounds in the outer corridor. He recognised her tread immediately. From the reluctant, dragging sounds made by the accompanying guard, he guessed it was probably Reynolds again, and he growled. He really did hate that man. He hated all the guards on principle, but that particular one, he hated most of all.

The door unlocked and Reynolds stepped through, followed by Ginny. He tried not to smile, preferring to appear as stoic and unmoved as always. She, however, grinned at him. “Good afternoon, Greyback.”

He nodded politely at her. “Little Weasley.”

She glanced over at Reynolds and raised her eyebrows expectantly. Muttering, the guard withdrew his wand and conjured the chair. She sat, opened her bag, and withdrew paper and parchment. As soon as she did, the smell of fresh bread wafted over to him. He sniffed the air; it contained bacon, herbs and was topped with cheese. His stomach growled loudly in response. Ginny must have either heard it or noticed his expression change, because she gave him a cheeky smirk. 

“Hungry?” she asked.

The wolf sat up eagerly. Fenrir, however, simply gave a half shrug and said, “Now that you mention it, I’m a bit peckish.”

“Only peckish?” she replied, amused. 

_ A bit peckish?  _ The wolf echoed scornfully.  _ Proud fool. You better hope she gives us that bread. _

“Are you planning to share that?” Fenrir asked.

“I am,” Ginny replied, placing her quill and parchment on the floor and reaching into her bag to reveal the loaf, wrapped in a cloth. The wolf was salivating. They hadn’t had fresh bread since before the Battle of Hogwarts; the few crusts they were given were always hard and stale. She started to stand, unwrapping the treat, but Reynolds stepped forward and grabbed her by the upper arm. 

The wolf growled softly at the action. How dare this man grab  _ Lupa  _ in such a way! He should consider himself lucky to be on the other side of the bars.

“Don’t even think about it, miss. Feeding the prisoners isn’t allowed.”

“And why not?” she asked coolly.

Reynolds’ eyes flicked away from her, to Fenrir, and back again. “Because it could be poisoned,” he hedged.

Ginny gave a sarcastic laugh. “Like you’d care if anyone gave a prisoner poisoned food,” she said.

“It could have a weapon hidden inside it, or something they could use to escape,” he suggested next.

“With all the detection charms and wards in place? Don’t be stupid,” Ginny scoffed. “Even if it was theoretically possible to sneak either of those things in undetected, the prisoners wouldn’t get far.”

The wolf was close to the surface now. Fenrir was doing his best to hold him back.

“You’re  _ not  _ giving him that bread,” Reynolds said now, his eyes narrowing at her. With the hand holding her arm, he started to yank her towards him, the other hand reaching for the loaf she still clutched. 

Before he could complete the movement, however, Fenrir felt the wolf take over. His features morphed, his mouth opening to allow his fangs to extend; his head elongated and fur sprouted; and long, fearsome claws burst from his fingers. The wolf let loose with a snarl that would chill the blood of any lesser creature.

Forcing the human words past his lupine lips and tongue, Fenrir rasped,  _ “Release her, human.” _

Reynolds’ eyes widened in fear and his movements stilled, his grip on Ginny’s arm slackening. Taking advantage of the guard’s distracted state, she yanked her arm free and kicked him in the shin before stepping out of reach. 

Glancing over at Fenrir, she said softly, “I’m all right, Greyback. He didn’t hurt me.” Her focus returned to the lowly coward before her, ready for whatever move he might make next.

The wolf could hear her rapid heartbeat; she was apprehensive in the face of his presence. And yet, she was not  _ afraid  _ of him, nor repulsed. He sensed it; he knew. However, Reynolds was a threat. The guard was still hunched over, holding his injured leg and giving Ginny a death glare which she returned tenfold. The staring contest continued until the little redhead stalked a few steps closer to Reynolds, until she was standing right over him. The position forced him to crane his neck to look up at her.

Once again, the wolf approved.  _ Lupa  _ was reminding this creature that she was stronger than he, superior, and far more powerful. Reynolds managed to hold his position for only a few moments before being forced to look down at the ground, although he did not move away. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she told him quietly. Turning back to the cell, she gave Fenrir a reassuring smile and stepped towards him.

“Don’t—” Reynolds croaked desperately, but she ignored him and kept coming, stopping just a few centimetres in front of the bars. 

The wolf stared into her deep blue eyes, and Fenrir felt his dark companion begin to relax. Reynolds was no longer a danger to  _ Lupa,  _ seeming to have realised at last that he had made a grave error by placing his unworthy hands on the girl before him. A small movement directed his eyes to her hand, which was still grasping the loaf of bread. She extended her arm, offering it to him. 

Concentrating, he willed the wolf to retreat. Slowly, his body returned to normal. When he knew his hands had resumed their human form, he reached out to take the food from her. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome.”

Fenrir lifted the bread to his nose and inhaled deeply, savouring the smell, filing it away for later. Suddenly ravenous, he took a huge bite and closed his eyes in pleasure. He swore it was the best thing he’d ever tasted, and the wolf was inclined to agree - mostly. While it was far better than what they were accustomed to, the pieces of bacon only increased his craving for a nice, fat chunk of raw meat. Before he knew it, he had wolfed - no pun intended - the whole thing. 

Wiping his lips, he glanced over at the Weasley girl. “I enjoyed that. Whose windowsill did you snatch it from?”

She gave him a look of feigned outrage. “I’ll have you know, I made it myself.” 

Muttering behind her caused them both to look around. Reynolds had gotten back to his feet and was watching them both warily. He drew his wand and held it aloft. Fenrir snarled in warning, but Ginny turned back to him and gave a small shake of her head before facing the guard with her arms folded across her chest.

“Put that away, you stupid man.”

“I won’t! You’re—you’re trying to help him escape!”

She burst out laughing, tossing her head back, then abruptly stopped and looked at him as if he were nothing more than a Flobberworm. “You’re ridiculous, and I will no longer permit you to be present when I am visiting my client. You will leave immediately, and summon another guard in your place.”

“Or I could just arrest you right now, throw you in a cell with one of the other Death Eaters,” Reynolds threatened.

The wolf, enraged at hearing such a suggestion, immediately took control again, and Fenrir was hard-pressed to prevent himself from undergoing a full transformation. It was enough, however, to give Reynolds pause.

Watchful, glancing between the guard and the girl, the wolf noticed a glint of something shiny.  _ Lupa  _ had drawn one hand to her side, and there was something in her palm. Something that looked like the gold wizard money these humans were so fond of. Her thumb pressed the side, and it glowed faintly before returning to its former dull shine.

Now  _ Lupa  _ was shaking her head. “Stupid, stupid man,” she said, with a hint of regret. 

His former pomp gone, faced once again with a snarling half-werewolf, half-man, Reynolds had retreated to the far wall, although he still had his wand out. The wolf could smell his fear and hatred coming off him in waves, and once again thought what a great pity it was that they were caged. He  _ desperately  _ wanted to tear the man limb from limb, to crack his bones between the wolf’s powerful jaws, to lap up his spurting blood.

He was distracted, however, by the faint sound of shouting and running footsteps, rapidly approaching. Turning to the outer door, he let out a roar of warning.

“Greyback.”

His ears twitched forward at her voice, and his eyes slid sideways to look at her. “Reinforcements are coming. The wolf must retreat, or they will attack you,” she cautioned. He growled in negation and paced restlessly. “You  _ must,”  _ she ordered. 

The wolf whined.  _ Lupa  _ was right; he knew this. But he did not want to withdraw while the guard was on the brink of attacking. He knew the man was poised to begin firing spells wildly, and while he was not concerned for himself - the wolf could withstand almost any attack, especially when the caster was half-mad with fear and hate - but it was highly possible a stray spell might hit  _ Lupa,  _ and she was without a wand of her own and so defenseless.

“They’ll be here at any moment,” she repeated, and indeed, the footfalls and cries of the humans were deafening in their proximity.  _ “Please,  _ Greyback. For me.” Her blue eyes were pleading. Finally, the wolf relented.  _ Lupa  _ had asked this of him, and besides, several humans were more dangerous than one, especially with her in the line of fire.

He withdrew, allowing his human companion to regain control of his body. Not a moment too soon, for in the next moment the door burst open and three guards piled in, their wands at the ready. Following them was none other than that Granger girl. Fenrir found it terribly amusing that a female under the age of thirty - and a muggleborn one at that - had managed to secure the top Ministry position after Kingsley retired. He was certain it must burn the arses of the pureblood, elitist wankers no end to have to see her swanning about, upsetting the status quo and demanding justice and equality for all.

“Ginny! Are you ok? What happened?” Granger asked, pushing her way to the front. Other than a glance his way, her focus remained on the redhead. He found himself somewhat mollified by the fact she appeared not to have immediately assumed he was the cause of the summons.

“I’m fine,” Ginny replied. “But Reynolds here needs to be dismissed immediately. He’s a danger to the other prisoners, visitors and his colleagues.” She went on to describe the incident, starting with her attempt to give him bread (to his amusement, it turned out extra rations for prisoners had already been approved by the Governor, following pressure from Granger), describing how Reynolds had deliberately antagonised Greyback, and ended with his threats against her.

The guard - Fenrir recognised him as one of the higher ranking ones - turned to Reynolds. “What have you got to say for yourself?” he demanded.

“She’s lying! She was trying to help him escape!” Reynolds insisted. “I was just trying to stop her!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Granger scoffed. “Ginny has far more sense than to do anything to jeopardise the programme, as do all my mentors.”

“The little Weasley’s right about him being dangerous to visitors,” Fenrir piped up. Five heads swivelled to look at him, surprised at hearing him address the group.

“Can you elaborate on that please, Mr Greyback?” Granger asked, eyeing him closely. 

“It’s just Greyback,” he corrected her. “When that coward over there threatened to put her in with the other death eaters, he pissed off the wolf and made him come out. Little shitstain almost pissed his trousers, but he had his wand out and was on the verge of casting. The wolf could tell.”

“You transformed?” The senior guard asked in shock and anger. He then rounded on Ginny. “You didn’t mention he transformed!”

Ginny sighed. “I didn’t mention it because it wasn’t relevant. Greyback only reacted because Reynolds provoked him - or rather, he provoked the wolf. And anyway, it was only a  _ partial  _ transformation; not a full one.”

_ “Only a partial transformation,”  _ the senior snorted in disgust. “Well, what makes it all right, then, doesn’t it?”

“The point, you bumbling fool, is he was about to start firing spells, and the Little Weasley was directly in the firing line,” Greyback continued. “If he can’t control himself, he shouldn’t be escorting visitors.”

“Or maybe,” the senior scowled, “You aren’t suitable for this programme, Greyback.” He turned to Granger and folded his arms in a silent challenge.

“As Minster, I will decide whether or not Greyback is suitable for the programme, Johnson,” Granger replied, staring the man down.

“Oi. Isn’t anyone going to ask what I think, seeing as I’m the one who’s participating?” Greyback interrupted.

“Indeed. Do you wish to have Ginny continue to visit you, and offer her mentorship services?” Granger asked him.

“I find her amusing. I don’t see the point in mentoring the likes of me, but her visits break up the monotony,” he replied.

“Regardless, it’s not ideal for you to go transforming in front of others,” Granger argued. “It doesn’t seem to bother Ginny—” she looked at the redhead for confirmation, who shook her head “—but it’s going to make the guards nervous if you do it in front of them, and when you make men nervous, they’re more likely to react with emotion rather than logic.” She cast a withering glance first at Reynolds, then Johnson.

“If Reynolds hadn’t put his hands on her and made threats, that wouldn’t have happened,” Fenrir argued. “I can normally control the wolf, but he likes her and was trying to protect her.”

Granger looked at him disbelievingly. “Your  _ wolf  _ was trying to  _ protect  _ her?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” he challenged. “You were good mates with Lupin, weren’t you? And you’ve a reputation as a right little bookworm, wanting to know everything. You don’t expect me to think he never told you anything about wolf lore?”

Granger flushed. “He did tell me quite a bit,” she admitted. “It’s just—”

“—You thought the fearsome and evil Greyback couldn’t possibly be capable of wanting to protect anyone,” he finished with a sneer. “I would have expected you, of all people, to be less prejudiced, Minister.”

To his mild surprise, she hung her head. “You’re right. I apologise, Greyback.”

Behind them, Johnson spluttered and muttered,  _ “Minister's apologising to the werewolf. Never thought I’d see the day..”  _

“He’s probably also hoping for more bread,” Ginny chipped in. “Although he had the cheek to accuse me of snatching it from someone else’s windowsill.”

Granger’s mouth twitched. “Did he, now?” she murmured, her eyes watching him all the while.

“I did,” Greyback confirmed. “But she reassured me she hasn’t yet resorted to petty theft.”

“That’s good to know,” Granger said. She kept her expression neutral, but he could see the amusement dancing in her eyes. Turning back to Ginny, she said, “I take it you’re happy to continue with the arrangement?”

“I certainly am,” she nodded. “Greyback and the wolf and I are getting along nicely. I don’t see any reason to disrupt that.”

“All right. But Greyback—” she turned back to him. “—please try not to give the guards too much trouble.”

“Don’t send one like him over there,” he replied, nodding at Reynolds, “And we won’t have a problem.”

“Fair enough. Are there any guards you find tolerable?” Granger asked.

Fenrir thought carefully. ‘Tolerable’ was probably the best word to use. He hated them all, but supposed there might be one or two he hated slightly less, and who might be less likely to say or do something that would provoke the wolf. But he truly couldn’t think of any who fit that description. Unless—

“There’s a young one. A pup,” he said. “Started a couple of weeks or so ago, got sent in to bring me my dinner as an initiation. Was so scared of me, he forgot he even had a wand or a means of escape. He wouldn’t be a threat.”

Granger frowned. “I’m not sure sending an inexperienced guard who’s already terrified of you as Ginny’s escort is a good idea—wait, did you say he was sent in as an  _ initiation?”  _ Her eyes narrowed as his words sunk in.

“All new ones have to take a turn at bringing me my dinner. To  _ see what they’re dealing with.”  _

“What they’re—dealing with?” she repeated. Rounding on Johnson, she said, “Did you know about this?”

Johnson glared at the floor, scuffing his foot against the stone. Then he looked up at Granger with a slightly petulant expression. “Yeah. Reminds the new ones we’re dealing with dangerous prisoners here.”

She sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers and muttered,  _ “Godric, give me strength.”  _ Looking up at Johnson again, she said tightly, “That practice is to stop immediately. Terrorising new employees unnecessarily is not only unprofessional, it creates unnecessary risk and is just plain cruel. All employees working with high-security prisoners should be given the proper guidance and training  _ when  _ they are ready to undertake those duties, not simply thrown into it as some sort of twisted rite of passage.” 

She fixed him with a stare that would stop a Hippogriff in its tracks. “Am I understood, Johnson?”

The guard glared once more, then dropped his gaze from hers with a muttered, “Yes, Minister.”

“Good.” She nodded, satisfied, then turned back to Fenrir. “I will find out who this young man is, speak to him and see if he will agree to be Ginny’s escort. In the event he declines, another guard will need to be assigned. Do you have anyone else in mind?”

Fenrir indicated Johnson. “Suppose he’ll do,” he said. 

“Very well. I consider this matter dealt with. Johnson, lead the way. I’ll want to discuss Reynolds’ disciplinary action with the Governor before I leave.”

“As you say, Minister.” Johnson crossed to the outer door, indicating for one accompanying guard to escort Reynolds, and the other to remain; then led the others out of the room, leaving only the unknown guard and Ginny behind. 

The redhead looked at him in amusement. Well, that was exciting, wasn’t it?” she quipped.

“Most fun I’ve had in years,” Fenrir agreed.

“Hermione’s going to raise hell about that initiation thing,” Ginny said with a rueful grin. “How long has it been going on?” 

Fenrir shrugged. “A few years, I suppose. First couple of years, the wolf was always close to the surface and no one but the bravest and most senior guards would come anywhere near.”

“I can imagine.” 

“What was with that coin you had in your hand before Granger and the guards showed up?” he asked.

She glanced over at the guard, then back at him. “It’s something Hermione designed back in her fifth year. It has a protean charm, to instantly send messages between those who have one of the coins. All the mentors have one to communicate instantly with her in the event of any incident that occurs during sessions.”

“Incidents involving prisoners?”

“Potentially. But not just involving prisoners, any incident that occurs while we’re here in Azkaban. Including incidents involving other visitors, or guards.”

“She’s thought of everything, hasn't she?” Fenrir asked. He couldn't help but hold some admiration for the bold little muggleborn.

“Of course she has,” Ginny smirked. She’s Hermione.” Something made her look down, and she reached into the pocket of her robes, withdrawing the coin.

“It heats up when a message comes through, in order to alert the recipient,” she explained, before glancing at its surface. “Merlin’s balls! Hermione needs me to go to the Governor's office to give a statement about Reynolds.” She packed up her bag, gathered the quill and parchment that had lain forgotten on the floor, and packed the items away.

“I’ll come again in a few days,” she said. “Goodbye, Greyback.”

“Bye, little Weasley,” he replied.

The guard opened the door to let her through. Just before she exited, she turned and gave him that smile, the one he was growing to like. Fenrir almost found himself smiling back.


	4. They All Know Our Name

Fenrir spent the next few days wondering if the little Weasley had gotten into trouble over the incident with Reynolds. Part of him was worried that, despite Granger’s insistence that the sessions should continue, Johnson or perhaps the Governor would attempt to do something to prevent her coming back.

To his relief, however, she was back as usual three days later, smiling at him in that way she did. The one that made him feel like he was more than just a creature; but an ordinary person. 

He was surprised and amused to see the young lad accompanying her, although the guard still looked very nervous at the sight of the werewolf. “Hello, pup,” he rumbled. “You’re braver than I thought.”

“Y—yessir,” the lad said, his eyes wide. “Um—why did you ask for me?”

Fenrir chuckled. “Did they not tell you anything?”

“They did—Minister Granger explained it to me, sort of—but I don’t really understand.”

“Well, what did she tell you, exactly?” Fenrir prompted, somewhat impatiently.

The lad swallowed, put his hands behind his back, stood up straighter and stared into the middle distance, as if he were in class and had just been asked to recite a difficult lesson.

“Minister Granger said there had been an incident, that Mr Reynolds’ conduct had been inexcusable and that he had been dismissed from his position; and when a replacement escort for Miss Weasley had been discussed, you asked for me personally.”

“And that was all?”

“Yessir.”

Huh. Figured. He supposed they didn’t want to terrify the lad too much, so had largely glossed over the details. But Fenrir had never been one for withholding the graphic details or downplaying things, and he was going to set the lad straight.

“Right. First of all, pup, stop with the  _ yessir.  _ I’m no sir, and I’m no mister. You’ll address me as Greyback. As to the reason you’re here, I asked for you because the Minister wants to avoid a repeat of what happened the other day, which involved me undergoing a partial transformation because that fool Reynolds provoked the wolf.”

The lad gulped and went as pale as milk. “You—transformed?” he whispered, swaying alarmingly.

“It’s all right, pup. Don’t faint,” Fenrir said. “And only partially. Reynolds put his hands on little Weasley, and then threatened to throw her in a cell with the Death Eaters. The wolf didn’t like that. To make matters worse, he was on the verge of firing off spells in a panic, and she would have been in harm’s way without a means to protect herself.”

“I—I see.” He glanced over at Ginny. “Did Reynolds hurt you, Miss?”

“No, he didn’t. But thank you for asking,” she replied, giving him a kind smile that caused him to blush.

“Now, pup -  _ you  _ wouldn’t grab or threaten her, would you?” Fenrir asked. His tone was pleasant, but laced with a warning all the same.

The lad shook his head wildly. “No, S—I mean M—er, Greyback.”

“Good,” he said, satisfied. “Then we won’t have a problem.”

“And you won’t—you won’t transform?” The lad checked.

“Not as long as you don’t give the wolf reason to come out,” Fenrir answered. “Stay over there like you’ve been told to and don’t interfere in any way, and the two of us will get along like Nifflers and gold.”

“All right.” the lad nodded his understanding and stepped back until he was standing stiffly beside the door.

Ginny turned to look at him. “Could you conjure me a chair, please?”

“Oh! Of course. Please excuse my lack of forethought, Miss Weasley.” He withdrew his wand and quickly conjured a comfortable-looking chair with a high back and plump seat cushion.

Before sitting, Ginny opened her bag, and Fenrir’s nostrils were once again teased by a delicious and intoxicating scent. “Sausages,” he said. “With garlic.”

“Indeed,” she replied, withdrawing a wrapped bundle. She stepped forward and held it out to him, resting it on the crossbar. 

He took it, trying to hide his eagerness. “Thank you.” The wolf was imploring him to  _ stop mucking about and eat the damn sausages, already. Foolish, proud man. _

Once he unwrapped them, they were gone in no time at all. He sighed in satisfaction and disappointment.

“Hermione is pushing to try and increase the portion sizes of the rations for all prisoners,” Ginny said as she sat. She reached into her bag for the quill and parchment. “I don’t imagine the quality will be much better, but at least you’ll have more to eat.”

“What else is she doing?” Fenrir enquired, curious. “Has she been haranguing the Governor?”

Ginny smirked. “Mercilessly.”

He nodded. “Good. The man is an ignorant fool.”

“In my experience, most men are ignorant and foolish,” she replied.

Fenrir laughed. “That they are,” he agreed.

She grinned back at him, then schooled her features into a more professional expression. “I’d like to start asking you questions about your past. I hope you’ll answer some of them. My only request is that you be frank with me, both in your responses, and if you don’t wish to discuss the topic at this present time.”

“I’m always frank,” Fenrir said, taking a seat on his bunk and leaning his back against the wall. “I don’t pussyfoot around or give gentle answers, little Weasley. Never have, never will.”

“Works for me.” Ginny made a note on her parchment, then looked back up at him. “Tell me about how you came to become one of Voldemort’s supporters.”

He scowled fiercely at her. Somehow, he hadn’t expected the first question to be about that, and seriously considered telling her to bugger off.  _ Don’t be ungrateful,  _ his wolf chastised.  _ Lupa has been kind to us, she comes to us without judgement or condemnation. Tell her of your human foolishness. _

“Fuck you,” he replied.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Is that a no, then?”

“I was talking to the wolf.”

“I see. And what did the wolf say, to make you respond like that?”

“He told me I was being ungrateful, and that I should tell you of my human foolishness.”

Her mouth twitched in that way, and she made a note. “Are you going to take his advice?”

“I suppose so,” he said. Tipping his head against the stone, he cast his mind back to that night nine years ago.

_ It was cold and wet. He and his pack were sheltering in a dilapidated building in rural Northampton. It had been a day since they’d last eaten. There were only seven of them, ranging in age from ten to sixty-one, with him being the oldest. Everyone was hungry and miserable. Fenrir, as was the norm back then, was frustrated and resentful, ready to lash out at the drop of the hat.  _

_ He didn't want to be responsible for these others; to have them rely on him for protection, guidance and a livelihood. He could barely manage to look after himself, let alone this mangy band huddling together, trying to keep warm.  _

_ Unlike him, they could not turn at will, having not fully embraced their wolf, and so could not put on their fur to block out the chill as he could. Instead, they had to make do with the small fire he conjured in the crumbling hearth, although with dry wood being scarce the flames would soon die out. _

_ Abruptly, Fenrir felt the wards tremble. Someone had encroached upon their domain, and he growled, low in his throat. “Stay low, be quiet,” he warned them. “Chiara, get them away from the windows.” _

_ The young female werewolf glared at him, but nodded her assent and began to gather the others, herding them into a shadowed corner, withdrawing her wand as she went. The girl was a pain in the arse, defied him at every turn and would curse him constantly, but she made an excellent Lieutenant. Her magic was powerful and she was a fierce fighter. _

_ He spared his pack one more glance before heading outside, his wand held out before him. He magically sealed the doors and windows with a spell of his own creation then staked into the night to face the intruder.  _

_ A flash of lightning lit up the black, and he spotted a hooded figure standing just inside the ward perimeter. He could sense dark magic emanating from them, and dropped into a duelling stance. _

_ “Identify yourself!” he challenged, shouting to make his voice heard over the rain. _

_ The figure said nothing and did not move. Fenrir called the wolf. He felt his bones crack and his skin stretch as his dark brother emerged. Partially transformed, he let loose with a fearsome growl, one that was guaranteed to send any mere human running in terror. Of course, when the wolf was this close, running was the worst thing to do, because they would then give chase and tear the comer apart. _

_ The stranger, however, didn’t so much as flinch in their presence. For the first time, Fenrir sensed danger - real danger. The wolf wanted to attack immediately, to eliminate the threat before it tried to attack them. However, the human part of him knew better than to rush in so recklessly, not when they didn’t know the capabilities of the enemy. _

_ “What do you want?” He rasped instead. His vocal cords, lips and tongue didn’t want to make human sounds when the wolf was this close, making it difficult to speak. _

_ With the wolf’s superior night vision, Fenrir watched as the figure slowly reached up and pulled back the hood that covered their face, and both he and the wolf stared in amazement. It was a man, that much was clear. But his features were… strange. Not quite human. There was no hair upon his head, his skin was grey, and he had twin slits where a nose would normally sit. His eyes glowed a pale red.  _

_ The man started forward, taking measured, even steps. The wolf snarled in warning, but Fenrir told him to wait and see what he wanted. Still, he gripped his wand tighter and pointed it directly at the other, anticipating an attack. The figure stopped just beyond reach and appraised him with calm detachment. _

_ “Fenrir Greyback, I presume?” _

_ “Who wants to know, snake-face?” _

_ Snake-face gave an exaggerated bow. “Lord Voldemort… perhaps you have heard of me?” _

**I** **_don’t know,_ ** _ the wolf said dismissively. Fenrir, on the other hand, did. And he was baffled, because… _

_ “You’re supposed to be dead. Disappeared on the thirty-first of October, 1981, never to be heard of again, presumed killed and your body destroyed.” _

_ Voldemort offered a conspiratorial grin. “I’m clearly alive and well, Greyback. But my body  _ **_was_ ** _ destroyed. An unfortunate miscalculation on my part, but thanks to the measures I took to safeguard my existence, the past years have been more of an inconvenience than anything. Now, I am back, and intend to complete my mission. You do know what that was, yes?” _

_ Fenrir nodded slowly. “You planned to enslave muggles, bring the wizarding world out into the open, and achieve world domination,” he said. “To be rid of the Mudbloods and prevent them from ever being able to use magic.” _

_ “Indeed.” The Dark wizard paused. “And do you know why I am here tonight?” _

_ “I reckon you’re going to ask me and my pack to join you. That’s what you did last time, isn’t it? Got some werewolves to take up your cause?” _

_ “Correct, and correct. I never waste words, Greyback. I will always get right to the heart of the matter. You are a smart man. A feared and powerful man. You are exactly the type of wizard I am looking for to help me continue my work.” _

_ “And if I don’t  _ **_want_ ** _ to join you?” Fenrir challenged. _

_ Voldemort chuckled. “Why wouldn’t you want to join me? I can offer you far more than what you would ever get if left to your own devices. Power, gold, revenge… follow me, and you can have it all.” _

_ He considered. Certainly, he desired all those things, although he was already a powerful wizard and beast in his own right. Gold would keep him and his pack fed, housed, and entertained. But when it came down to it, revenge was what Fenrir desired most. Still, he had responsibilities. _

_ “What of my pack?” _

_ “They’ll join me, too, of course.” _

_ Fenrir shook his head. “Not so sure they’d want to join you, or be of much use. It’s only a small band, not very strong.” _

_ “And if they do not wish to take up my noble cause? What of your own decision? You will still join me, will you not?” _

_ He was torn. As much as he would love to take the opportunity to get revenge, to grab it with both hands, he had to put his pack first. If they refused, he would refuse, also. They would make do, somehow. They always did. _

_ “If they say no, I say no,” Fenrir said at last. “I got responsibilities. They need a leader.” _

_ Voldemort’s face, previously relaxed and almost affable, morphed into a deep scowl. “I will not accept a refusal, Greyback. You  _ **_will_ ** _ join me. Whether your pack joins also is of no consequence; however, they will be much safer if you take up my offer.” _

Fenrir was abruptly pulled out of his reminiscing by a gasp. He shook his head, momentarily befuddled by his surroundings before remembering where he was and why, and glanced over at Ginny. Her face was pale, eyes wide, her mouth open in a small O.

“You seem shocked, little Weasley,” he observed wryly.

“I—I’m sorry.” Ginny blinked and gave herself a little shake. “It’s just—we were always told you joined Voldemort voluntarily.”

“I _ did  _ join him voluntarily,” Fenrir said. “Just not entirely willingly - at least, not that night. He made me choose between the safety of my pack and my independence, and I chose to protect them. Of course, it gave me an excuse to forget about them, hand the responsibility over to someone else, and succumb to my need for revenge. So it wasn’t a total loss.” He shrugged indifferently.

The redheaded woman frowned at his declaration, though whether at the first or second half of it, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps both, for different reasons. “So—what happened to your pack?” She asked. 

Fenrir sighed and continued recounting his induction into Voldemort’s circle of supporters.

_ The warning had enraged the wolf—how dare this human threaten the pack!—and he tried to take control again.  _

_ “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Voldemort cautioned, raising his wand. “I know spells, powerful spells, that will stop even the strongest of werewolves in their tracks. But I won’t start with you, Greyback. I’ll start with the weakest members of your pack. I will cage you, and make you watch as I punish them.” _

_ Even the wolf hesitated at this. As much as they both wanted to tear Voldemort to pieces, they could not put at risk the few unfortunate souls who were currently huddled in the crumbling farmhouse behind them. With a frustrated growl, the wolf retreated again, allowing Fenrir to return fully to his human form. _

_ “Very well,” he said to Voldemort. “I will join you, however I have decided my pack will not.” _

_ “In that case, I suggest you bid them farewell, and quickly. I am not a patient man; and if I have to come and fetch you, I will be...displeased. You will not like me when I am displeased.” _

_ Fenrir believed him. With a short nod, he turned on his heel and strode back towards the farmhouse, alert for any sign of movement from Voldemort. Reaching the door, he removed the locking spells and entered. _

_ “Chiara.” _

_ She turned to look at him, her expression questioning. _

_ “I have to go. I can no longer be your leader. You are now Alpha of this pack.” He turned away from the group, intent on leaving as quickly as possible.  _

_ “Fenrir! What are you talking about?” _

_ “It’s quite simple,” he replied without turning around. “I am no longer Alpha; I have other, more pressing business to attend to and will likely not return. This pack needs a leader and you, Chiara, are now it.” Wrenching open the door, he strode through it and across the small yard in front of the house. _

_ The irritating little female werewolf followed him out and grabbed him roughly by the arm. “What is the meaning of this? You can’t just—you can’t just  _ **_leave!_ ** _ They need you!” she paused, struggling to get the next words out. “ _ **_I_ ** _ need you. You’re our leader.” _

_ “Not any more, I’m not.” He yanked his hand free and turned his back on her once more. _

_ “Dammit, Fenrir, why? Why are you abandoning us like this? Bastard!” she screamed at him. _

_ Fenrir stopped, whirled around and stormed back over to her. He leaned in, pressing his face close to hers and staring into her eyes. She neither moved back nor averted her gaze; despite her denials, she was very much a leader. “Do you know who Voldemort is?” he hissed. _

_ Chiara went pale at the mention of the Dark wizard's name. “Yes.” _

_ “Well, he was the intruder,” he explained, “and he gave me an ultimatum. Either I join him, or he will torture and kill each and every one of you, and make me watch.” _

_ Her eyes widened in fear and she tried to look over Fenrir’s shoulder, peering into the darkness beyond.  _

_ “I will not pretend that I enjoyed the responsibility of looking after you lot, but neither will I put the lives of my pack, or any of our kind, in danger. Especially not for the sake of my pride. So I will align myself with him, and you will take my place as Alpha and then get them as far away from here as possible. Go into hiding; get out of England. Do not ever try to find me. Do you understand, Chiara?” _

_ Her eyes filled up with tears and she was shaking slightly, but she sniffed, wiped her face and nodded. “I understand, Fenrir.” _

_ “Good. Now, go back to them, make sure they are prepared, and as soon as you sense me leaving, you are to take them and flee.  _ **_As soon as I am gone,_ ** _ is that clear?” _

_ “Yes. Goodbye, and good luck.” _

_ He gave her a small smile, a rare expression for him. “And to you, pup. You will make a great Alpha.” Fenrir stood and hurried back towards where Voldemort was waiting, without looking back. He reached the Dark wizard and nodded. “They are aware of my change in priorities. Shall we go?” _

_ Voldemort gave a triumphant smile; one that was decidedly unpleasant. “Excellent. We will be going to Malfoy Manor.” He reached out and clutched Fenrir’s arm, and the werewolf had a moment to feel slightly revulsed by the man’s touch before the pull of Apparition whisked him away. _

“And that’s it,” Fenrir concluded. “That is the story of how I came to join Voldemort’s ranks.”

Ginny was staring at him with an expression of… was it sympathy? How could she possibly feel that way about him, considering the cruel and violent things he had done both before and after he had met the Dark wizard? Genuinely curious and a little baffled, he asked her as much.

“I’m not going to deny you committed horrifying and heinous acts,” she said, after taking a moment to gather her thoughts. “But equally, his Death Eaters also committed those acts, albeit using different methods.”

“That still doesn’t excuse what I did, or explain why you looked like you felt sympathy for my situation,” he argued.

“It’s because of the _ way  _ in which you were placed in that situation,” Ginny explained. “You had a life, if not one you were content with, before he approached you. You resented feeling duty-bound; all the same, you didn’t shy away from those duties but accepted them. And, ultimately, you put your pack’s well-being first rather than risk exposing them to Voldemort’s cruel wrath.”

“It was the only option,” Fenrir said, somewhat defensively. “I would not then, and still would not now, put my own kind in danger. We’re persecuted enough as it is.”

Ginny nodded. “I won’t pretend to fully understand, but I can see your perspective nonetheless.” She looked at her watch and raised her eyebrows. “Well, you certainly got your request. I was here much longer this time.”

He felt his lips try to twitch slightly and hoped she hadn’t noticed. “Well, we weren’t interrupted by prejudiced arseholes for once,” he said. Glancing over at the young lad, whose name he still didn’t know, he added, “You did a good job, pup.”

The lad looked surprised. “Uh—thank you, S—I mean, Greyback.”

“What’s your name?” Fenrir asked, abruptly.

“It’s Stevens.”

“Stevens, eh? I’ll try and remember to call you that.”

This statement caused Stevens to appear even more taken aback than he had been when Fenrir praised him. “Er—thank you. I must say—” he paused for a moment, apparently asking himself whether he should continue. After a beat, he added, “—I do prefer my name over ‘pup’ or ‘lad’.

Fenrir chuckled, and even Ginny giggled at the quip. “I like you, Stevens,” he said. “You’re very amusing. Make sure you personally escort little Weasley here every time she comes to visit.”

“I’ll do my best, Greyback,” Stevens said, blushing slightly. 

“I’ll talk to Hermione and ask her to clear it with the Governor,” said Ginny. “But Greyback, you’re not to be cross with him if he happens to not be on shift occasionally on the days I visit.”

“I suppose I can tolerate another guard on occasion,” he grumbled. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen too often, alright?”

“I’ll make sure,” she reassured him. Removing her notebook from her back, she flipped past a few pages and said, “Now, I thought I’d return in three days—” 

“—No,” Fenrir interrupted. “Full moon’s in four days, the wolf will be too close in three days’ time. You won’t get any conversation out of me and I’ll be in a constant state of half-transformation.”

Ginny looked at her book again and blinked. “Oh! Of course the full moon is almost upon us. Please forgive me, Greyback. I wasn’t thinking properly, and I momentarily forgot.”

“It takes some getting used to,” Fenrir said gruffly. “No offense taken, little Weasley.”

“Thank you. When would be a good time to return?” she asked.

“I generally need two days to completely come back to myself after the full moon has passed,” he replied. “With the wolf so close all the time, I remain very lupine for some time afterwards.”

“In seven days’ time then?”

He nodded. He would rather it not be that long, but with the full moon so close, it couldn’t be helped. “All right.”

She made a notation, then packed her things away in her bag and stood to leave. Stevens moved forward to unlock the outer door, ready to escort her out.

“Little Weasley.”

Ginny stopped and turned to look at him.

“Is it—after the full moon, my strength is heavily depleted. As I’m sure you’re aware, this is the case with all werewolves.”

She nodded and waited for him to continue.

“Do you think you would be able to bring me some red meat when you return?”

“Steak?” 

“Steak would be very welcome.”

“How do you prefer it?”

“Raw, but I would be just as happy with rare.”

Ginny thought for a moment, then smiled. “I’m sure that would be okay. I’ll check with Hermione, but I don’t see why she would object.”

_ She truly is a decent human,  _ said the wolf.  _ I like her immensely.  _ Fenrir smiled, genuinely smiled. “Thank you, Lupa.”

She smiled back. “You and the wolf are very welcome. I’ll see you in a week.”

And with that, she was gone.


End file.
